


(your fist has touched my heart)

by negativecosine



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: (light) foot fetish, (sort of) vampire, Fisting, M/M, bubblegum anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 05:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/negativecosine/pseuds/negativecosine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(In which Marshall Lee fists Gumball, and also Gumball is made of gum, for reals.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(your fist has touched my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> On The Title: Are You Even Serious With That Lyric. Come On.

"Do you have to do that in here?" Gumball's face scrunches up adorably when Marshall Lee does something foul. It's too good an incentive, sometimes. Which is why, of course, Marshall Lee is sprawled out sideways across the Royal Pink Bed, coloring his toenails black with a permanent marker. The smell is dizzying, especially when combined with the heat, and the constant, overpowering smell of sugar. 

It's the eighth month. They've kicked all the covers off the Royal Pink Bed, and they're melting into a sticky puddle on the floor. It's too hot for clothes, but too hot to be naked. The chocolate people have all been evacuated to the Ice Kingdom for the month. Everyone in Candy Kingdom has at least one ant glued to them. It's why, Gumball claims, he has to wear the band shirt to sleep-- it's too hot for Royal Pajamas, too humid to go without. 

Marshall Lee goes without. He's fine. 

Anyways, the clothes don't really prevent the soles of Gumball's feet from gluing themselves to where they're resting on Marshall's thigh, and the shiny pink looks interesting on his gray skin, and Marshall Lee really feels like the glue will be permanent, this way, like Gumball will fuse permanently to him, consume him, eventually incorporate him into his gooey candy body completely. He's not totally against the idea of being inside Gumball, all things considered, but he does want to retain some non-candy-sweetness about him. Which is why the smelly marker is necessary. For a bit of fun, when he finishes his own nails Marshall Lee moves on to Gumball's feet, sketching on outlines where his toenails would be. Gumball doesn't have any caratin or cartilage, of course, he's all soft and pink straight through, but it's fun to pretend. 

Gumball squirms. "That tickles," he says, which generally means 'don't stop,' and also 'don't make me ask for it.' His face is still scrunched, but he's watching Marshall Lee so intently, and he's breathing slow and shallow. As an experiment, Marshall drags an ugly black line up his foot, into a delicate swirl on his ankle. Gumball doesn't kick out, doesn't move, is tense and silent, so Marshall runs the line up higher, along the smooth sticky stretch of calf. 

A little hitch in Gumball's breath is what ruins him, and Marshall Lee has no interest in excusing his actions any further than that. He follows the line up with a forked tongue, bent nearly in half, and the ink tastes toxic, and the sugar overpowers it, and Gumball _whines_ when he flicks his tongue in the shallow bend at the back of his knee. 

The whole structure of him is soft in the heat, and his thigh curves in ways it shouldn't when Marshall Lee pushes it up to Gumball's chest. His hand sinks into the pink flesh a little, and comes away pink. It would be so, so easy to sink his teeth into the inside of his thigh, right up close to those stupid hipster briefs- so easy to suck out a little desaturated patch off Gumball's hue, taste him, mark him. He smells so good, he smells _liquid_ and flushed and pink-red, and Marshall Lee looks up at his face, at the delicate blush laid out over Gumball's prissy frown. He's watching him like he's braced for Marshall Lee to do something wrong, something awful. He looks like he'd desperately like Marshall Lee to do something awful. 

"I'm not gonna do it," Marshall Lee says, because his heart is made of spite and hurt and also delight at making Gumball massively uncomfortable. 

"Do what?" His voice is so small, and he's so still, except for a very fine tremble around his ankles and knees. "Bite me?" 

Marshall Lee grins, all fangs, fangs for miles. "You think it's-" 

"-distasteful," Gumball finishes, and drops back onto an elbow so he can lift one hand, run it down Marshall Lee's face. It leaves a sticky trail, and Marshall Lee's tongue is easily long enough to lick it off, but he doesn't. "Does it hurt?" 

"You know, I've never asked my food what it felt like." This is a lie. Marshall Lee asked an apple, when he was very young, and very, very scared and alone. It was an apple, so of course it had nothing to say on the matter, but he'd seen unusual things talk a lot in those days. He was currently talking to chewing gum, so. 

"What about if you just-" Gumball trails off too fast. He's always a sure talker, always so confident, and something as simple as a trailing-off is always planned. He has been in politics far too long, and it is a bit infuriating, but he shows no signs of picking up the sentence until Marshall Lee prompts him by licking his thigh, long and wet. "Just," he tries again, stuttering and put off by the departure from the script he'd had written, "without swallowing, maybe, it won't hurt?" 

Marshall Lee can't stop grinning, can't stop picking at the seams on Gumball's dumb briefs. "You asking me to bite you, Prince?" Gumball sucks on his lip, nods, and lets his head fall back. "Wanna try asking nice?" Marshall Lee tests, because he can't not push it. 

"Please-" Gumball tries, and Marshall Lee rewards him by peeling his briefs down and off, tossing them off to melt into the blankets on the floor. It's not enough, though, not until Gumball is shaking lightly under the concentrated heat of Marshall Lee's focus, squirming like he's considering closing his legs. Instead, he tries again. "Please, just do... something with your mouth, that doesn't kill me," he whines, sounding bratty, needy. 

It's enough. Marshall Lee sinks his teeth in to the inside juncture of Gumball's hips, flicks his tongue out to get a good taste. It's so, so good, and he has to fight everything into him not to just _pull_ the red out, it's just under the surface, perfect and sweet all the way through. Gumball keens softly and collapses, gives up almost all semblance of having a skeleton. His legs fall open flat to the bed, and he pushes his hips right up into Marshall Lee's teeth. 

Gumball doesn't have exactly what Marshall Lee has, because he's still as much candy as person, but what he does have is soft and flushed a lurid magenta, and it's hot and it smells amazing and Marshall Lee is exercising absolutely heroic self-restraint in not just taking a huge bite out of Gumball now. He pulls his teeth out against some resistance, and Gumball moans, then makes some sort of sharp, desperate noise on the inhale when Marshall Lee licks at him in a flat stripe straight in. Gumball doesn't have blood, so he doesn't really bleed, but the skin around the bite is juicy and thick on Marshall Lee's tongue. 

There's not really a good name for what Marshall Lee does, because there's not really a good name for what candy people have- it sort of depends on the candy, and the season, and Marshall Lee really doesn't know or care much about any of them but Gumball. But he knows his body plenty well by now, knows where he can push and mold and shape his soft flesh into something nice to suck on, knows where he can press his fingers or tongue in deep to make Gumball writhe. It's maybe almost as good as actually eating him- or maybe better, because Gumball's careful words scatter into weak, breathless half-formed pleas so quickly, and he's got his sticky fingers in Marshall Lee's hair, tangling and pulling. It's going to be hell to get out later, it's why he cut his off last time, but it's so delicious, he can't bring himself to snap about it. He pushes his mouth right up against where Gumball's the hottest, softest, and does his level best to make him melt. He's springy and elastic, even here, and he squeezes down hard on Marshall Lee's tongue, then harder when Marshall Lee works in a couple fingers besides. He's moaning, crying, begging mindlessly; he's totally forgotten how to keep his arms and legs the right shape, and everything's bent and soft and curling in closer and closer around Marshall Lee until, finally, he snaps. The instant it passes over him, he's kicking weakly at Marshall Lee, pushing him away, overstimulated. Marshall Lee relents, until the sole of Gumball's foot gets stuck to his cheek, which he can't help but respond to by sucking on his toes. Hypersensitive as he is, Gumball groans and sighs and goes limp again, soft and pliable. 

"Again," Marshall Lee asks- dares- a little muffled around Gumball's toes. 

"I can't," Gumball answers weakly, not bothering to lift his head or open his eyes. 

"But you want to, right?" Marshall Lee's got back down to the part where the black sharpie's still staining him, and the acrid chemical taste against the sugar is messed up and amazing. 

"Of course I want to, but-" 

"You can go again." He dips his head, follows the same path up Gumball's ankle, the back of his knee, the inside of his thigh, as before. He goes slower, softer, wetter, does his level best to get as much of that perfect pink flesh in his mouth as he can without actually consuming any. Gumball's too wrung out to fight him, too shivery and hot to even want to try. He's perfect like this, no fight left in him, no nagging and fussing and worrying. 

He's quicker with his fingers this time, pushes three into Gumball hard and wet and fast right when his tongue hits the spot. Gumball's body makes room for him, shifts and stretches around his knuckles. He's still wet from the first time, and soft enough that Marshall Lee can press up from the inside, push a bulge of flesh up to suck on. Gumball gasps and cants his hips up into his mouth, tries to roll up into it. Marshall Lee's only response is to slide in his pinky, fitting his thumb up nice and open against where Gumball's pelvis isn't. He's gorgeous with four fingers in him, and Marshall Lee nearly goes cross-eyed trying to stare and lick at the same time. He gives up on the licking for a minute so he can watch intently when Gumball takes in his thumb, stretches out and around past his knuckles, takes in his hole hand. It seems impossible that he should feel so tight and so soft at the same time, and Marshall Lee curls his fingers experimentally inside him, then twists his wrists and looks up sharply to check his face. 

Gumball's head is thrown back, his mouth gaping open, and he doesn't look to be breathing at all, though Marshall Lee can feel something like a pulse throbbing in the flesh around his hand. His eyes are wide and glazed, and there are perfect little crystal tears at the corners, and the whole thing would be decidedly picturesque if he weren't still wearing that sweaty black teeshirt. (Marshall Lee decides he likes it better this way.) 

There's resistance now, where there wasn't before. It could be because there is actually a limit to how Gumball can stretch, or it could be that Gumball's squeezing down on him, maybe intentionally, and it's that thought that makes Marshall Lee twist his wrist up again, and wrap his fingers to a fist. Gumball takes a soft, shuddering breath, then seems to return to holding his breath, and Marshall Lee can't stop staring at the bump his hand makes low on Gumball's belly, on the way it shifts when Gumball tenses, relaxes. 

Like this, Marshall Lee really doesn't really need to do anything- Gumball seems to be totally unconscious of the way he's squeezing around him rhythmically, but it's still doing a fine job of keeping him totally helpless and mindless. He's still visibly worn from the first time, and the build is slow and hypnotic this time around. Marshall Lee figures out a good pattern of soft kisses and licks around where his wrist emerges from Gumball that doesn't hamper his ability to stare shamelessly, and Gumball, for his part, doesn't seem to have a lot of complex brain activity going on anyways. When he comes the second time, it's with a soft, low, animal groan, and a tight insistent pressure that almost hurts Marshall Lee's hand. He eases off slow, and his eyes and gaping mouth drop shut when Marshall Lee pulls out carefully. He does peek when Marshall Lee thoroughly licks his own hand clean, but doesn't really have any comment on the matter. He's still got nothing to say when he crawls up to wrap around him, teasing fangs along his neck. 

"See?" Marshall Lee wants to sound smug, wants to gloat, but can't muster it for some reason. He mouths along the neck of Gumball's shirt instead, gets the collar wet. 

"No," Gumball breathes, "because I am never opening my eyes again ever." 

"Cool," Marshall Lee tells him, and floats up and off a few inches to better watch him drift to sleep.


End file.
